Why I’d Live in a Terrarium
How tiny I’d have to be, how
crushable, like a snail or sow bug.
And what a relief to never again
fret about the fragile sticks
and shells of things under
the weight of me—rely on giants
rather than coddle the things
my hands engulf. In a terrarium
our speck of love would be
enormous. Our hearts
would shrink and the love
would nearly explode them
because the glass of this jar
is magnifying. The pieces of our
lives that have flaked and floated
away might be found again,
helmet-sized and smelling
of old down pillows.
